


Return of Old Horrors

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma, mentions of abuse, mentions of child abuse, season five, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-24 00:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: Ed sees the man standing before him and he can feel the air being punched out of him, that familiar terror as he looks at somebody he'd long ago forced himself to forget ever existed.





	1. Chapter 1

When Ed heard the bells of his makeshift alarm system (one must improvise in case of a crisis) start to ring he felt that it was safe to assume that Oswald would be the one to walk through the door and into the room. He’d been due to arrive nearly two hours ago, but per usual he was late. Ed sighed tensing slightly as he continued to focus on the metal scraps laid out before him on the work station. He thought about how this was their submarine, how he’d spent the past three months working tirelessly to complete it before the government charged their island and carted them off to a far off prison they’d never be released from. He thought about how Oswald often referred to the sub as his sub, despite putting no work into the project. He of course aptly named the submarine after his dead mother, the submarines guts were strewn across the table top, larger pieces of metal and inner workings of machinery were being kept in store for the time being. He prayed that Oswald wouldn’t be drunk again or come in dragging yet another degenerate off the streets.

He heard the door close, heard the light tap of shoes against the tiled floor. The sound wasn’t right though, Oswald’s steps were rarely light, heavy and off in sound due to the deadness of his leg. Ed tightened his grip on the wrench in his hand, turned to face whoever just entered his space. 

Before him stood not an intruder nor Oswald, but instead of a horrific ghost of a past he’d long outrun.

“Dad?” Ed choked out, his voice was a squeaking rasp as if he were re-entering puberty suddenly. The wrench dropped to the floor, the thud jarring enough to cause Ed to jump back, heart slamming against his chest.

His father was close to him in height, two inches taller to be exact. His hair was thick and shagging, unkempt, dark brown with streaks of gray showcasing the years had caught him in the end. His face, his eyes were all like looking into an aged mirror, a smile tugged at his lips, a kindness was in his eyes, a kindness that Ed knew not to trust. He took note that his father looked to be more muscular now than he did the last time he’d seen him, but he supposed that 18 years in Blackgate prison would do that.

“You don’t look too happy to see me.” His father noted, he held his hands up a show of harmlessness and peace as he took a cautious step towards his son who now felt like he was five all over again.

“You’re….You are, you’re supposed to be in prison.” 

Locked safely away to never be seen again. 

Memories flooded Ed’s mind, his hands trembled, and he could still hear his heart pounding. He could almost taste the fear that he felt upon seeing his father after all these years.

“Well when the bridges collapsed, chaos ensued, power went out, and next thing you know massive break out.” He paused to look around the library, to look at the scraps of metal and half assembled equipment.

He shouldn’t be here, not in the library. So many days Ed had spent hiding in libraries growing up, hiding there to avoid the beatings his dad would doll out inf he found out about a flunked test or supposed cheating, he hid in libraries to avoid hearing his parents fighting. Libraries were safe havens for him, but now his father was in a safe haven, desecrating it with his presence, reminding Ed that he was an adult now and safe spaces did not exist.

“Looks like you’re building something, mind sharing?” His dad asked as he approached the table looking down at the blueprints for the submarine.

Ed wanted to shove him away, put a gun to his head. He wanted to yell and tell him to leave, to tell him that he had no right to be here, that this was not his place. Yet words were caught in his throat, pitiful words that meant nothing.

The bells rang again, both men looked towards them. Ed swallowed hard knowing this time it would be Oswald arriving. 

He left his father’s side and rushed towards the door, he made it there just as Oswald entered. He placed his hands on Oswald’s shoulders attempting to push him back out the door and into the hallway.

“You’re late.” He harshly whispered as he glared down at his friend.

Oswald rolled his eyes at his chastising comment. “I was having drinks with Barbara…Well I was drinking, she was complaining about Lee and Jim.”

Oswald tried to shove past him to get into the library, Ed gently pushed him back. “You might as well just go back home, it’s late, and I’ll be finishing up here anyway.” 

Oswald paused, he stared up at him. He knew he was lying, Ed was not a good liar, and Oswald knew him too well. He knew him in ways that were thrilling and terrifying all at once.

He didn’t fight when Oswald shoved past him and made his way into the library, instead he followed, tension filling his body as he awaited the outcome of what would occur.

“I see that you have company.” Oswald commented as he looked at the man who currently was looking at their blueprints.

“Yeah guess you could say that.” Ed muttered as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

His father turned away from the table to face them, he smiled and there was this feeling of falseness about him that he prayed Oswald could sense.

“Penguin I presume.” 

“Yes….Who are you?” 

“I’m Stephen Nashton.” There was a silence, Ed fidgeted with his fingers picking at his cuticles, Oswald continued to stare up at the man with impatient confusion. “Ed’s father….I suppose he didn’t tell you about me.”

Oswald laughed, that forced slightly annoyed laugh. He stepped closer to the man, held his hand out for him to shake. “No he never did, I honestly didn’t think he had any family.” He admitted, Ed had wanted it to remain that way.

Stephen shook Oswald’s hand, “I’m sure Eddie here had you believing he’s a pod person or something.”

Oswald hummed and smiled, ended the handshake. “So what brings you here?”

“I figured I owed my son a visit, there’s a few things I was hoping to discuss with him.”

“Oh….Of course, I do apologize for intruding.” 

He turned back to Ed, he gently grabbed his forearm and lead him back towards the door. He glanced towards Stephen who was back to looking around the library, exploring it.

“Do you want me to wait for you outside?” He asked, his voice a whisper.

Ed shook his head, he kept his focus on Oswald, on his face. He didn’t want to look towards the man that looked far too much like him, he wanted to keep his focus on the man who made his heart skip a beat. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I will, I promise….I…Tonight, I promise I’ll tell you.”

Oswald nodded, he gave his forearm a squeeze before letting go, he brushed his fingers against the back of Ed’s hand as if needing to touch him. “I’ll see you at home.” 

Ed swallowed hard and nodded, watched as Oswald turned and left him, left him alone with his father.

He closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath before joining his father again.

“So what is it that you want?”

“You’re working on a submarine.”

“Yes, what about it?” 

His father smiled, he clapped a hand on his shoulder and Ed flinched, his father laughed. “I know you Eddie, despite being an occasional failure you are pretty smart. Let’s say you succeed in getting this thing built, how long do you think it’ll take?”

“A few more months, five at the longest.”

Possibly longer if he couldn’t find anybody to assist him.

His father hummed, tapped his fingers against his shoulder, Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other feeling uncomfortable under the hefty weight of his father’s hand.

“Once this place gets reinstated they’ll be rounding us all up, shipping us off to Blackgate, you and your friend there will probably end up some place much worse once the government gets to cleaning house. I think it’d be nice if you could take me with you guys.”

Ed laughed, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“You, take you with us? Are you insane, why the Hell would I help you escape?” He yelled as he took several steps back from the older man.

“I’m your father, I think we have a chance to work through our shit.” His dad attempted to reason.

“Work through….After what you did….No, you are not coming with us.”

His father fell silent for a moment, Ed wanted to scream, to throw things at him until he left. 

“I realize this is a lot all at once and you’re upset, I get that, but you don’t know everything. You were little when that happened, I had hoped after what you did to that girl of yours you might understand, but I guess I get it….I’ll come back in a couple of days, give you time to think things over.” 

Stephen approached him, patted his hand against his cheek, he smiled him in a way that nearly felt like a threat before leaving the room. Leaving Ed to stand in what once was a symbol of sanctuary, a room filled with knowledge and mechanical pieces that would build a submarine named after a dead woman. Ed laughed, dead women haunted him everywhere he went.


	2. Chapter 2

Home. This was not their home, Ed thought as he made his way down the sidewalk. He kept to a near leisurely stroll as he approached City Hall, the building looming and hidden behind tall gates topped with barbed wire, tattooed muscular morons guarding the doors of said gate.

This place was as much home as the two bedroom house with its white picket fence and the forever vacant doghouse in the backyard for a dog promised but never delivered. He felt the same hollowness looking at City Hall as he had looking at his childhood home, it was a place, people lived in this place, but there was no real warmth or memories.

Except at least here there was a dog, Ed thought as he entered the main hall to be greeted by the sound of claws tapping against the tiled floor. Soon the bulldog was in view, tongue lolling out of its mouth, nub of a tail wagging as it ran up to Ed the best that it could. Ed smiled as he knelt to pet the dog’s head, it placed its front paws against his knees, short claws digging against the fabric of his pants.

He liked the dog, not so much the dog’s name.

He kissed the top of the animal’s head before standing again and making his way towards the stairs to go up to what was considered his room.

The building was extravagant he had to give Oswald credit for that. Even in the events of a minor apocalypse that cut them off from the rest of humanity, Oswald still managed to immediately claim the oldest and largest building he could find and fill it with ridiculously expensive items. Only Oswald.

Still though it didn’t feel right, it never could feel right. The VanDahl estate had felt more homelike once Ed had gotten over his fear that Oswald might find him irritating or in the way. It had began to feel like a real home with its roaring fireplace, the loveseat near said fireplace where a moment between two friends almost took place but sadly never did. The debatable ghosts of generations past who haunted the halls wailing about lost loves and violently tragic deaths. Even when Oswald had been gone, presumed dead, Ed had seen it as his home, filled with almost memories, ghosts of smiles, and the scent of an over priced cologne that he’d never forget.

He sighed as he entered his room, Edward the dog dutifully followed him inside. He watched as the dog went to a small dog bed at the foot of the king-sized bed. 

“What should I do?” He asked aloud. Typically, there would be a response echoed in his own voice, he’d see a figure that looked just like him, but there was nobody. Only him.

He smiled sadly as he looked around the bedroom, realized that for the first time in years it was just him. There was a time he craved that, where he hadn’t wanted to hallucinate or black out or hear voices chattering away over top of each other until he had migraines that left him in tears. Now though he wanted the distraction of it all, he wanted a cleverer version of himself to tell him what to do.

He knew what any of his other selves would say; kill him.

“I don’t think I’d be able to go through with it.”

As pathetic and insane as it sounded, he almost wanted to give his dad a chance. Perhaps things were different now, he had been in prison for a long time, time to reflect on the type of husband and father he had been. Hell, maybe he was right, maybe Ed wasn’t remembering the events of that day correctly. 

His dad was sober now, seemed sober. Who was Ed to say somebody wasn’t deserving of a second chance?

He paced around his room thinking it over. It wasn’t like he would necessarily have to see his father once they escaped Gotham, they’d all go their separate ways. Still though if his dad maybe just maybe wanted to make amends, to change then they could live in the same city or state. He could give some of his share of the fortune to his father to help him get on his feet. He was sure Oswald would be okay with that, he hadn’t seemed too upset to meet Stephen. Though Ed knew he had questions, Ed’s past was an enigma, and he’d always planned on it staying that way. 

Once he tired of pacing, he flopped down on his bed staring up at the ceiling. Oswald could have done a background search on him, it was obvious Nygma wasn’t his given name. Ed had been born and raised in Gotham city, his family was in the old newspapers, it was public information. Why hadn’t he looked him up?


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a strong silence that fills the room as they sit together in the dining room. Oswald isn’t pressuring him to speak, only occasional glances, that almost glare when he grows frustrated that through the course of dinner Ed doesn’t broach the topic of families and buried pasts. Ed knows he should mention it, should tell him everything there is to tell, but there’s no good way to start.

“I’m not angry that you haven’t told me about your family before.” Oswald speaks, finally. His voice echoes faintly in the large room with its marbled flooring and elegant paintings hung up on the walls. Once they leave they’ll take these paintings, sell them for thousands of dollars.

Ed scoffs, “Good to hear you aren’t angry at me, not everybody needs to talk about their parents constantly.” The words are cruel, a defense because he’s nervous and he knows it was a cruel thing to say. He looks down, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and mutters an apology.

Oswald doesn’t get angry, there’s no fits or screaming matches, he just breathes in deeply through his nostrils and gathers himself as if he’s a frustrated parent and Ed is a frustrating child.

“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, but what is it that your dad wants from you?”

He can’t help but smile, all evening he’s been thinking over and obsessing over seeing his dad again. He can’t help but think how much he looks like his father and how that realization makes him want to claw his own face off. He wishes he could be more like Oswald, proud to resemble his parent, to be loved and cared for. Ed doesn’t know what that’s like, and he knows to an extent it has put a wedge between them on multiple occasions.

“He saw our submarine plans, he asked if he can come along with us.” 

There’s a resumed silence. Oswald isn’t angry or at least he isn’t showing he is. Ed notes these changes, he’s noticed how different Oswald has been this past year and it gives him a sort of hope. He looks up at him and sees him staring at him, green eyes look at him intently and deep down Ed knows he loves him. If he didn’t love him, they wouldn’t be here right now, having this discussion about if it’s a good idea or not for Ed’s convict father to tag along with them and a severely pregnant Barbara Kean.

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t exactly tell him yes. He caught me off guard when he showed up, I haven’t seen him in a very long time.”

He knows if it was anybody else, he would have been able to say no without a second thought, but this was his dad. This was his dad who had been out of the picture for most of his life, his dad who had been a literally locked away memory, a dark part of his past he didn’t want to think about. He thinks of Myrtle with her stalker obsession with him and he really did remember her, remembers her poking the bruises on his arm while the teacher stood at the front of the room trying to teach a roomful of children about plants and photosynthesis and none of them cared. He remembers her genuine concern, asking if his daddy had hurt him, remembers recoiling and not wanting to answer her questions. In the dark part of his brain there’s memories of every teacher who averted their gaze when they saw his black eye, the students who bullied and teased him for being autistic, bullied him because everybody knew about his father.

He jumps when Oswald reaches out and places a hand on his forearm bringing him back into the present and out of his whirlwind of darkened thoughts and tragic memories. 

“Ed, do you trust him?” His voice is calm, quiet, like a mother trying to reason with and understand a small child.

He feels pitiful, a single moment and he feels like his identity is gone. He’s just Ed Nashton again.

“I…I don’t know”

No, no he doesn’t trust him. He knows he shouldn’t trust him. His father can be cruel and conniving, he lies and throws those he loves under the bus when given the chance. He lost his job, his medical license all because he had to have power, to prove himself to his colleagues and to the world. 

Oswald’s hand is still on his arm, his thumb strokes against the sleeve of his black dress shirt and Ed wants to kiss him.

“If you trust him then this is fully up to you, whatever happened with your father I know it had to have been a lot. I’m not going to try and make you decide either way.”

Ed nods, it’s all he can do. Oswald’s understanding and caring when he shouldn’t be. He’s many things, predictable and not all at once. He’s the most emotional and chaotic person Ed’s really had in his life, while that’s toxic he craves it. He can’t let go of that jealousy he’d felt seeing Arthur Penn with his lunacy sitting atop Oswald’s lap. He can’t help that Oswald hadn’t gotten angry at him for shooting the man who threatened them because a dummy told him to do so. 

It’s a cautious and timid move when Ed reaches to place a hand against the back of his neck. Oswald watches him closely, he can feel him relaxing under his touch, his skin is warm, the short black hairs at the back of his neck are soft and his eyes start to fall closed when Ed leans in closer to him. This is the almost moment they had had on the couch, the way Oswald had looked at him by the fireside two years ago, the fear and the want, and now here they were again with emotional and physical scars. Guns had been fired, drugs had been consumed, and through it they survived and here they were. Ed’s lips brush against his and Oswald sighs against his lips before finally kissing him back, it’s awkward and unsure, and he knows Oswald hasn’t really kissed anyone before. This is new, it’s terrifying and thrilling, and Ed knows he needs him. 

He knows he’s a hypocrite in every way, but emotions carry weight that hits you like a shovel to the back of the head. Ed pets his fingers through Oswald’s hair, short nails scratching against his scalp and Oswald kisses back more firmly, a new confidence as he settles into this act, into this new territory for them. He places a hand against Ed’s chest, curls his fingers in his shirt and pulls. Before he really knows it his friend is settled on his lap, straddling him and at the end of the day this is what he’d wanted several months ago. This, him, the firm heat of his body, the oddly comforting weight of him. He touches him and it feels right, thoughts of his father fade from his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Ed wakes a good hour before the sun rises, he wakes up in a bed that is not his own, and with a weight on top of his body. He blindly reaches out and retrieves his glasses from the bedside table and puts them on, he groans and blinks, vision adjusting. He makes a note that Oswald’s bedroom in this fortress, this decked out panic room is the most luxurious room with its black curtains, fireplace against the far wall, and more artwork that will go with them.

Oswald presses more firmly against him, his hand gropes along Ed’s torso coming to rest against his stomach and Ed merely rubs his hand along his friend’s side. 

Nothing had transpired between them, as much as Ed had wanted him last night and as much as he knew Oswald had wanted him for years, he couldn’t do that. Not now. He sighs and looks at his friend, his partner, both, and something more. There’s something innocent and nonviolent about him when he sleeps, his features softened, mouth open, hot breath pushing against Ed’s exposed collarbones, and he can even forgive the drool pooling on his tank top, because frankly he knew Oswald drooled in his sleep long ago and he knew sharing a bed with him came with that risk. 

He wonders what will happen when they escape, it had bothered him since the plan started. The thought of going their separate ways, the fear of being states or even countries apart, losing the closeness they were awarded by living in Gotham city. 

Ed closes his eyes again, he settles back against the bed and tries not to think about it, not right now. There is a list of worries in his mind, fighting and clawing for attention, but he doesn’t want to worry. He wants to focus on this, the calmness of the early morning and the warmth of a body. He’s warm and alive and in some sense, he is his.

Lips press against his bare shoulder, he smiles. 

He knows this is a dream they have both shared at one time, never at once, only in passing. Another kiss follows this one against his jaw, lips linger there and this time Ed opens his eyes and looks down at his bedmate. Oswald’s hair is messed, his eyes are bright and lively, he looks happy, and if they pretend hard enough then nothing bad happened and they’re at home. If they pretend even harder then they’re in Ed’s apartment.

“Hi” Ed whispers, he leans down kissing him gently, there are words he should say, should scream, but he isn’t sure he can afford them.

Oswald rest a hand against his chest as if he knows, he’s always known. 

‘This will be the cold-blooded murder of someone you love.’

“I must admit I would have never imagined waking up to you.” Oswald confesses.

Despite how certain he’d been so long ago that this was right, that Ed was his and they were destined to be together, there had always been doubt. Ed had seen that doubt time and time again, even now he knew he feared this was a mistake, a game of some sort. Ed eases his fears by stroking his fingers through his hair, he keeps him close, and needs him. He’s needed him ever since the first time he met him, back when he was just a thug working for big time mobsters.

“We could do this more often if you want.” He suggests, he offers casually as if this is no big deal.

It is though, he knows it is. Oswald’s the first man he’s shared a bed with, the first man he’s kissed, and he knows all of these are first for Oswald. There’s something scary in that, in knowing he’s his first love, first kiss, and he’ll be his first of many things. He’s already been his first heart break and he can’t take that back, just like the little white pills Barbara had given him could never truly bring Oswald back to him those months and years ago. He’s here now though and he doesn’t know about those little white pills or Amy Whinehouse or nights of crying and begging to a God who never listens.

“I’d like that.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, what do you plan on doing when we escape?”

It’s a good time to broach the topic.

Oswald regards him, he readjusts the way he lays in bed but keeps pressed against Ed’s side as if he doesn’t want to lose this closeness.

“I may flee the country for a bit, just a couple of months. I was thinking of taking up in Central City for a while, I hear there’s a profit to be made off artwork and gold…. Perhaps if you don’t have any better plans you could join me. I must confess judging the value of art isn’t my strong suit, that’s an area of expertise you excel in.”

There’s a weight lifted off his chest at Oswald’s way of inviting him along, finding a logical reason as to why they should remain a team. He sighs in relief, a breathy laugh following the sound and Oswald frowns, eyebrows furrowing because he doesn’t know why this is funny. 

“I would love to help you; besides we make a Hell of a team.”

He’s relieved, he’s needed, and he’s wanted. He has a use and a purpose. Oswald seems relieved that he’s accepting his offer.

“We do, I love you.” The words are whispered and there’s uncertainty in them.

Ed isn’t surprised by that, considering their past and just how long ago it was since the last time Oswald told him that he loves him. Ed’s struggled with hearing those words, he’s been able to get by knowing they were there, knowing what feelings the other man harbored, but hearing the words kills him and revives him all at once. Each second that passes with those words hanging heavy between them is a second more of Oswald accepting that the feeling isn’t returned.

“I love you too.” The words are quiet, Ed’s voice breaks as he speaks those words.

He means them, he means them so much that it horrifies him. Those words carry hope and pain, they carry the ability to disappoint and to harm. They are words he’s spoken before to people he’s harmed, to women he’s hurt, and he’s hurt Oswald just like he hurt them. He fears being his father, he fears harming and scaring somebody he loves. 

Oswald doesn’t look scared though, he looks happy and understanding. He knows this is difficult, he knows that he has to take steps and read Ed like a complicated book. He’s learned to not push him, to give him the time he needs. Ed wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close, he holds him, and Oswald seems content to be in his arms in this bed. To know you’re loved is a powerful thing. There’s a shift in the air between them, their relationship has evolved in another way, he chooses to again not think about his father, not now. He doesn’t want to associate that part of his life with this, with love, and with somebody he can maybe make a life with.


	5. Chapter 5

When Ed returns to the library to resume his work on their submarine he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised to find his father seated on the couch leafing through the pages of an outdated medical journal, but he is. He feels himself tensing with each step he takes towards the couch, he knows his father hears his footsteps, can see him out of the corner of his eye but he doesn’t pay him any mind. He continues scanning the old pages with his eyes, a smile on his face and the occasional chuckle at ridiculous ideas we had once upon a time as a species. Ed pauses next to the small brown leather sofa, clenches and unclenches his fists, he swallows hard, and still he is adjusting to this man and his presence.

Suddenly his dad laughs, the sound echoing in the room, Ed flinches. His father presses the tip of his index finger against a paragraph, eyes alight with amusement, amusement Ed himself has felt in the past when it comes to these topics.

“Can you believe at one time we actually believed in bloodletting? Imagine cutting a patient and thinking you can cure their illness by letting out the ‘tainted’ blood.”

Ed seats himself next to his father, he looks over at the book, at the page in question. The paragraph goes on to explain the process, how much blood needs to be drained in order to get the viruses out, the sins, and the illnesses. He thinks about Arkham asylum and how Dr. Strange would allow the practice on unruly patients, he thinks about what they had done to Oswald, what they did to him. 

“Not as insane as what you used to do.” He finds himself muttering.

His father’s smile disappears, now it’s his turn to tense as he closes the book and tosses it to the side. 

“I was close to figuring it out, you know that I was.” He defends.

Ed stares down at the floor, he scratches and picks at the skin on his fingers wincing as he draws blood. He remembers the fights between his mother and father, often ending with his father storming out of the house for hours or locking himself in the basement. He remembers the one time, the one time out of a dozen that his father forgot to lock the basement door. He closes his eyes, the stench of chemicals and smoke and rotting flesh is imbedded forever in his nostrils and his brain.

“If you had been older maybe you could have appreciated my work better.”

He laughs, the sound is bitter. “Christ dad, you….You weren’t curing death, you were trying to make monsters.”

His father runs his fingers back through his tangled hair, he’s nervous and defensive. “Experiments, you need to experiment until you get it right.”

He remembers his father hunched over a long metal table. A body had been laying on that table, a young man probably in his teens. Chest opened, tubes connecting to his heart and lungs. His eyes had opened, glazed and unseeing, his mouth had dropped open in a silent scream, he’d turned his head and looked in Ed’s direction. Even if he was blind, Ed had sworn then and he swore now that he had seen him. 

He closes his eyes and counts to ten. His father reaches out and pats his back, he forces himself not to flinch. He opens his eyes and looks at his dad.

“Have you given anymore consideration to things?” His dad asks wanting to change the subject, needing to.

If they are to move forward, then they need to resolve the past.

“I have, I think we should talk first…. Clear things up before we make any plans.”

“Is your uh…. Is your friend fine with me coming along?”

Ed nods.

“You know when you were a kid, I never would have pictured you ending up like this.” He pauses and looks away as if he needs to piece his thoughts together before he speaks again. “When I was in prison, I did my best to keep up on you and your life.”

It’s funny how in a way that’s flattering, it should instill some sense of pride and happiness within him that his dad always thought about him. He knows that he could have visited him at any time, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted to drop off the map, knowing his father followed along with his life of crime makes him feel unsettled. The way his father speaks, the way he looks at him tells him that he is proud of him, proud of the man he has become. 

“We should talk about mom.” Ed says suddenly.

If they’re going to move forward, he needs to know everything. He thinks about her, he thinks about Kristen and his hand on her throat, he thinks of Isabella scarred up laid out on a metal table, he thinks of his knife against Lee’s throat and the voice whispering ‘do it’ in his ear. He thinks about how every woman he hurt, nearly hurt, the voice in his head always sounding like his father’s voice.

His father sighs and leans back against the couch, he rubs his hand over his face exasperated before they even begin.

“What about?”

“I-I remember, I know what I remember……You’re right that I was young.”

He’d been too young to understand the fight. He knows that his father had been drunk that night, it was soon after he’d had his medical license revoked, the police were even getting involved with his case. He’d been angry, drunk, and paranoid; Ed remembers his mother whispering to him, telling him to pack an overnight bag because they were going to stay with grandma for a little bit.

“Why did you lie to the police when they came?” Ed asks.

He knows the answer why, he feels a chill.

“Right, just tell them the truth; I had a few too many drinks, she’d threatened to leave me and take you with her. I grabbed her arm to keep her from going, she pulled away from me, stumbled back and cracked her skull on the edge of the table. We both know the cops wouldn’t have believed me, even if they had they wouldn’t have cared.” His father pauses, he smiles and looks towards Ed. “You know exactly what that’s like. I remember reading about your case, you pleaded in court that you strangled that girlfriend of yours on accident. You’d told her you killed her boyfriend to protect her, she freaked out, and you accidentally choked her to death.”

“I-It was…It was an accident, I didn’t mean to kill Ms. Kringle.” He whispers, his voice is shaky.

The man next to him on this couch looks too much like him, he wants to take a knife to his own face, he wants to scream. He wants to storm home and ask Oswald why in the Hell he’s with him, why he can forgive and love and share a bed with the man who hurt him and shot him, left him for dead.

“I believe you. What happened to your mom was an accident too.” He tries to reason all the while Ed feels as if he is drowning.

“Do you regret killing mom?”

It’s a question he’s wondered for so long and he knows the answer and he’s always known the answer.

His dad chokes out a laugh, its wrong and morbid. “I didn’t kill her, she practically killed herself. If she had just stopped screaming at me and just listened for one damn second then she would still be alive, we wouldn’t be here right now. She did it to herself.”

Ed stills, he looks ahead and suddenly everything clicks into place for him.

He slowly gets up from the couch and makes his way to the work bench, wordlessly he picks up the monkey wrench. His father is still on the couch, still explaining his side of the story. How she didn’t listen, how she had only ever pretended to understand and support his vision and his work, but in the end she was willing to divorce him and testify against him in court, turn his own son against him. 

Ed tightens his grip on the wrench as he steps up behind his father, he lets out a scream as he swings down. The wrench collides with the back of his father’s skull, the sound is loud and grotesque as the thick heavy metal breaks skin and cracks skull. His father falls forward collapsing face down on the floor, Ed jumps over the couch, he kneels over his father and delivers another hit to the back of his head. He screams as tears roll down his cheeks, blood splatters across his face and his vision blurs as he hits him again and again until it’s all out of his system and he’s left kneeling atop of the corpse of the man who ruined him.


	6. Chapter 6

When Oswald arrives at the library to retrieve Ed, he expects to find him at his workshop table mumbling to himself and working on a project that may possibly just fail. What he comes upon instead is a horrific crime scene with more questions than answers.

Ed’s seated on the sofa, his hair is disheveled, blood is splattered across his face, he’s staring ahead and nothing while only occasionally blinking as if his body is reminding him this is a thing he must do. In his hand he’s holding onto what Oswald presumes is a wrench, but he’s not sure that’s what it is, but he does know the end of the tool is soaked with drying blood, thick chunks of skin dangle from it along with clumps of hair. Sprawled out face down on the black and white tiled floor is the body of Stephen Nashton, the back of his skull is concaved, when Oswald draws closer, he can see the glistening of blood and damaged brain matter. There’s a stench in the room he knows well, he’s grown so accustomed to the putrid stench of violent deaths that it no longer causes the instinctive violent gagging it would cause one who is a virgin to such things.

Still though it feels intrusive and wrong for him to be in this place, stumbling upon a scene such as this. He idles before the corpse and the son of the dead man, waits for Ed’s eyes to focus, for him to look at him and acknowledge his presence. Seconds pass then a full minute.

“Ed” 

There’s no response, no flinch or twitch. He remains still, weapon in hand and eyes staring off at nothing. 

“Edward”

He remembers Ed’s catatonic state of being after Isabella had been murdered, how he would fall asleep on the chase lounge. He rarely cried, he just stared off at nothing until the early hours of the morning or until sleep would finally come to claim him. 

Oswald steps over the corpse and approaches the couch, he takes a seat next to his partner. There’s caution in his movements as he reaches out to pry the wrench from Ed’s hand, his grip loosens, and he allows the weapon to be taken from him. He sets it to the side wanting it far from the other man’s reach. Now he reaches to take hold of his blood-stained hand.

“Tell me what happened.” He gently urges.

Ed lowers his gaze; he’s staring at his father’s prone form now. Staring and realizing the gravity and reality of the situation. Oswald can see the quickened rise and fall of his chest as a sort of panic sets in, sees the tears glistening in his eyes and the reddening of his cheeks.

“He killed my mom.” He says his voice rough, there’s a sick hatred in his voice as he now glares down at the corpse on the ground.

Oswald watches as he grits his teeth and gives the body a hard kick watching as it lifelessly jostles in response to being assaulted. Oswald strokes his thumb across the back of his hand. He realizes now just how little he knows about the man sitting next to him, the one he just recently shared his bed with. He bites back the urge to laugh as he realizes he only ever knew a version of him he created in his own head, this sophisticated, misunderstood logical man. He’s that, but he’s human. He’s scared and filled with rage, he’s mentally unwell and angrily kicking a corpse.

“I ha-had to do it, I had to kill him.” He says attempting to reason with himself more than the man next to him.

Oswald places a hand against his jaw, gently turns his head to face him. The look on Ed’s face softens when he’s meeting his gaze. 

“It’s okay, it’s over now.” He assures him.

He has many questions but right now is not an appropriate time to begin prying. He sighs knowing he should have done research on Ed years ago, before getting him out of Arkham he should have asked to see his files, to read every bit of public information on him. Yet he hadn’t, he’d wanted them to have this clean slate of trust between them, he never wanted Ed to think he didn’t trust him for a second. If Ed had wanted him to know, had wanted to let him in then he would have let him in. He thinks about how he’s only being let in now because Ed’s past finally caught up to him, forced itself into his current life that he so carefully cultivated.

Oswald lovingly strokes his fingers along Ed’s jaw, he stares at him and wonders many things about him. He sighs and presses a kiss against his forehead before getting up from the couch.

“How about you go take a shower and I’ll take care of cleaning all this up.” He says gesturing towards the body.

Ed’s quick to get up from the couch. “No it’s okay, I don’t-“ He pauses closing his eyes, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and lets out a shaky breath before continuing. “He’s my father, I…I want you to help me bury him, but it’s something I need to do. After I’ve showered and changed.”

He can see that he’s trying to steady himself. He watches him as he smooths down his suit jacket and adjust his tie, his father’s blood is splattered all over him like a bad grindhouse film and he’s so desperately trying to pretend this is casual. 

Oswald simply smiles and agrees with his plan, he tells him that he’ll wait for him in the bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

He takes his time in the shower, he rubs the wash cloth over his arms and hands, presses hard until his skin reddens from the roughness. He feels as if he can’t scrub hard enough to wash the blood away, underneath his nails remain the brownish red of his father’s blood. He curses and throws the wash cloth out of the shower and onto the floor, it lands with a wet thud. His mind replays the scene for the millionth time, he feels more like a viewer than the participant in his father’s murder. 

His dad is dead, and he killed him. He took a wrench and hit him multiple times, he was on top of him, felt his body convulse, legs kicking as his body spasmed. 

He covers his face with his hands, his eyes closed tightly. He thinks back to the basement, thinks about an unruly experiment who shambled off the slab and came at him while his father wasn’t looking. It had wreaked of death, spoilt and rotting. It had such a strong grip as it had grabbed his shoulders then, squeezed as if trying to crush his bones. His father hadn’t been scared for his son, no he’d only been angry that his son was interrupting his work, that his son wouldn’t stop screaming and couldn’t appreciate that his father could bring the dead back to life.

Ed forces the memory back into its corner with all the others as he reaches to turn off the water. He gets out of the shower and grabs a towel from the nearby rack, he keeps his focus on everything that isn’t the mirror above the toilet and the mirror above the sink. He isn’t afraid of hallucinations or alters, they’re gone now. He’s afraid of something that won’t ever go away. He has his father’s face, his eyes, his nervous habits and nicotine addiction. 

He wraps the towel around his waist and exits the room. Before he goes into the bedroom, he makes his way to a makeshift office where over the months he’s compiled every piece of public information the city’s history has to offer, his family’s history included in that. In the top drawer of a filing cabinet sat against the far wall next to a barred window there is a thick yellowed folder full of court documents, witness statements, interviews, and newspaper articles. He grabs the file and holds it close against himself as if protecting it like it were a newborn child or a small animal, in need of protection. 

For a second, he considers returning to the living room, but fear keeps him from going there. When he enters the bedroom, he’s relieved and unsurprised to find Oswald sitting on the full sized bed with its raggedy green and white checkered quilt. He looks almost bored until Ed enters the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the folder his friend is clutching against his chest as if it holds every secret a human could ever want to learn.

Ed closes the door behind himself, he hands the folder to Oswald before flopping down on the bed.

“Everything is in there, everything about me before I was put into foster care.” He tells him.

It had been near impossible to keep him in a home for a long period of time. Most families hadn’t known how to deal with him, considering the trauma he had suffered, his mental issues, and his general awkwardness. By sixteen he’d begun working, by eighteen he’d earned enough to find a roommate and an apartment. Over time his life had worked itself out, he legally changed his last name to Nygma, went to college, he’d so desperately wanted to be the type of man his father never could have been. Now here he was wet, naked, holed up in a library still feeling as if he were stained with blood.

He props himself up on his elbows to watch the other man as he goes through the file, carefully watches his expression hoping to guess what he’s thinking and feeling. He watches as his eyebrows furrow, occasionally he mouths words that he’s reading as his eyes scan the pages. Time feels as if it drags on, Dr. Nashton has been dead for three hours now and Ed knows they need to bury him soon. Oswald finally closes the file and sits it down on the bed. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, to your mom.” 

There’s sincerity in his voice, he really does feel bad for him, for them. He’s sympathetic and empathetic to the traumatic loss that Ed experienced at a young age. He feels guilty that he never could show that same sympathy when Oswald’s mother had been killed, instead he just rushed him through his grief as if it were a hindrance and not a natural state of being when one loses a parent.

“I should have told you about all of it.”

Oswald smiles, “You could have, I’m the last person to ever pass judgement….What happened with your dad today?”

“I came here and he was here, I thought….I thought perhaps he’d found me because he really wanted to change his life. I thought maybe all that time in prison he’d started to feel guilty about killing mom, but he just still blamed her for what happened.” He pauses for a moment as he pulls himself up into a sitting position. “When she, when she died it was a lot like when Ms. Kringle died.” 

“Ed you aren’t your dad, I can assure you of that.”

He laughs at that; he feels like in a sense his friend doesn’t know him. He feels like he’s this monster but almost nobody can see that he’s a monster until it’s too late.

“How do you know? Everything that I’ve done, I’ve…. What I did to you, I wanted to believe it was justified. I love people then I destroy them, seeing him again reminded me that I am so much like him, I look in the mirror now and all I see is my dad. There have been so many times I say something, or I do something and this voice in my head just whispers that it’s something my dad would do or that he would say. God, I already hurt you once, what if it happens again? What if we had a kid together, what if I hurt them or neglect them, ruin their life the way my dad did with me?” He knows that he’s rambling to the point of incoherency, it only stops when Oswald takes a hold of his hand.

“Ed, just because you mildly resemble your father doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be an egotistical surgeon playing God in a basement someday. If you ever try to kill me again I already promised you that it won’t fair well for you, also I doubt you would be abusive to our theoretical child that I refuse to let you name because I know you’ll give them some horribly pop culture related name.” 

He smiles feeling himself relax, “So Zelda and Link are completely out of the question?” He teasingly inquires.

Oswald places a hand against his cheek, he leans his forehead against his. “If we have a baby someday and I find out that you name them either of those I will actually kill you.” He says before kissing him.

Ed finds himself laughing, he feels normal and relieved for a moment, for the first time since his dad showed up in this place that once was a safe haven for him.


	8. Chapter 8

They work in silence as they carefully wrap Stephen Nashton’s body in blankets. Oswald occasionally looks at Ed to gauge if he’s handling this okay or not, it’s hard to tell. His brow is furrowed, he looks like he’s concentrating, trying not to think of this corpse as his dad. 

Together they carry the body out to the car and place it in the trunk, together they drive out to a location that Oswald is sure he’s been before but he isn’t sure. They pass rows of houses, a good few are still rather intact, not brutally ransacked by thieves and scavengers. The houses remind him of shows like Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best, the nuclear family. The type of families his parents had never had, the type he’d never had, and in a sense Oswald’s grateful he hadn’t had the false TV upbringing where your parents are more like priests and teachers, wardens keeping you in line instead of loving flawed individuals who keep you safe. He glances over at Ed in the passenger seat, he sees the way Ed watches the houses and he knows that this is where Ed grew up. These homes were pictured in some of the articles he’d read. He knows Ed’s upbringing went from okay to bad to nightmarish, more than a child should ever have to experience.

“Pull in here.” He calmly instructs pointing towards one house. 

In structure and landscaping it looks like all the other houses on this street. It’s two stories, a basement lies beneath the surface, the house is painted moss green, curtains cover the windows keeping onlookers from seeing inside. He knows the house is empty, logic and the fact this place looks worn and vacated by time and life tells him there isn’t a breathing soul inside, but regardless he reminds himself about the knife he keeps strapped to his leg brace. 

They exit the car and round to the trunk, again they carefully hoist the body out, Ed graves a shovel. Oswald remembers they met this way, Ed out in the woods burying hunters and dead girls with red hair and glasses. He remembers stumbling upon the picnic basket, taking its contents, Ed following his blood trail and finding him scared and delirious in that caravan that once was owned by two hippies he had bludgeoned to death. The memory makes him smile, he wouldn’t have guessed years later they would be here, in a suburban neighborhood burying Ed’s abusive father.

Ed maneuvers to grip the shovel and his end of the body in one hand while with the other he opens the gate. Wordlessly they walk through the yard, they make their way to the back of the house into a spacious backyard. There’s a large tree with a tire swing, Oswald wonders if it was hung up by Ed’s father to give the illusion of normalcy or if Ed had really wanted one. He’s confused when he sees the doghouse but lets it go.

Again, the body is placed on the ground, Ed goes towards the large tree and strikes the grass coated Earth with the end of the shovel. Oswald wants to offer to help him dig, they can take shifts if he wants, but he knows Ed wants to do this on his own. So, he chooses to idle in the back, next to the body wrapped in blankets, blood has soaked through the white fabric of one of them. He stares at the corpse until he suddenly remembers his own father’s rotted corpse in a duffle bag, he turns away then.

He begins surveying the yard almost wanting to see if it feels weird. He doubts Ed spent much time out in the yard playing, he highly doubts their family had barbeques or any other typical thing mostly seen on TV. He feels that at one time there were bottles of vodka and whiskey hidden away beneath the kitchen sink much like there had been in his own mother’s apartment. Oswald doesn’t know nuclear families or how they function outside of TV and Gordon’s own frustrating puritan morality, but he does know how broken families function. There’s a strange comfort knowing Ed’s family was broken, he feels he understands something better now.

Oswald approaches the sliding glass doors, the only window to the inside of this home that isn’t obscured by curtains or blinds. He presses his face to the glass and squints as he peers into what he’s pretty sure is the dining room. He closes one eye hoping to be able to see better without the occasional blurring his vision does to him. He can see a circular table, only three chairs seated at it, an empty bowl placed in the center of the table. If he strains his eye enough, he thinks he can make out a couch in the distance.

He jumps when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, he turns around to see Ed standing behind him. Ed chuckles, amused by the fact that he could startle him so easily when it’s only the two of them in the yard, in the entire neighborhood.

“Don’t do that.” 

“I was simply trying to get your attention, sorry.” His apology is mildly sincere, he kisses the top of his head before pulling away from him.

Oswald follows him, back to the corpse wrapped in blankets, blood staining the blankets. For the final time they lift him up this time carrying the deceased Dr. Nashton to the hole dug just for him, his final resting place. They place him into the hole and step back. Oswald stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, he feels suddenly awkward, this suddenly feels private and unlike Carmine Falcone or his own father’s funeral he doesn’t feel like he should be here. He knows though that Ed needs him here, he’d get upset if he just went to wait for him in the car.

For the first time in this process he sees tears roll down Ed’s cheeks, bottom lip quivering as he stares down at the corpse, that realization of finality hitting him.

“Dad I….I won’t ever forgive you for what you did to mom, even in death you don’t deserve forgiveness. God, I used to pray I would get the news you died in prison, then again, I also always wanted you to die and I’d never even know about it. I am so sorry it had to be this way, but you, you weren’t going to change. For as much as I hate you, as much as I spent my life being scared of you partially because I knew all those years that if I saw you again, I wouldn’t know if I’d want to scream or hug you….as potentially fucked up as it is, I do love you.” His voice breaks, more tears roll down his cheeks as he reaches for the shovel again with shaking hands.

This time Oswald does move closer to him, he takes the shovel from him and instructs him to just take a break while he finishes things. He won’t pretend to fully understand, he won’t pretend to understand why Ed can still love a parent who hurt him so badly, but he’ll give him the support he needs. 

He finds for himself burying a man he hardly knew is easy, he knows that for what little time he’d met Stephen that he hated him, he distrusted him, and if he’d lived and come along with them it would have been a true test of will and strength for Oswald not to have murdered him. He knows he would have just dragged Ed into some dark toxicity, back into horrific lab experiments. He looks over at Ed who is sitting under the tree with his legs pulled up against himself, he’s watching the burial process. There’s no sobbing or ugly crying, just this intense quietness about him, Oswald wishes he could be that way sometimes.

Once he’s finished burying the body he feels as much a part of this as Ed is, especially now with dirt under his nails and staining his suit. He reaches out a hand in offer to help Ed up, Ed takes hold of his hand and allows him to help him back to his feet. 

“Since you were looking inside earlier, do you maybe want to go inside and look around?” Ed offers, he seems calmer now than he had before. The body is underground, he’s already working on hiding it all away in his mind.

“Sure.” He smiles, “I always wondered what your bedroom would have looked like.”

Ed laughs, “It’s as dorky as you probably thought it would look like.”

They hold hands as Ed leads him back to the front yard, Ed releases hold of his hand as he goes to a small patch of dirt now full of rocks, but at one point was possibly a lively flower garden. 

Ed points at the rocks, mouthing something to himself possibly counting before finally kneeling and picking up one of the rocks. “Ah ha I knew it was still here.” He exclaims proudly as he holds up a dirty house key. He goes to the front door seeming almost excited as he enters and turns the key, he looks back at Oswald smiling as he pushes the door open. He steps to the side and gestures for him to go ahead inside.

The home is dark as all things are these days, he knows he’ll go into shock when they finally have electricity again.

There’s a stillness in the house as they enter it, Ed takes hold of his hand again as they explore. Even in the mostly darkness of the house he can tell it was built long ago, he can feel that Ed’s mom had wanted to modernize their home, make it look less 1960s and more late 1980s but her husband’s lack of interest in such things left it stuck in the middle. The carpet in the living room is an awful looking burnt orange, the couch against the wall is black leather, a bulky entertainment stand houses a rather large TV, much larger than the one his mom had owned. There are cheap paintings on the wall, water colors and oil paintings, all housed in cheap frames. There are though pictures between these yard sale paintings. Oswald goes up to them to get a closer look. There’s a photo of Stephen Nashton, smiling brightly, his arm wrapped around a woman’s waist. She’s a beautiful woman, a good foot shorter than Stephen, her thick brown hair is down past her shoulders curling towards the ends, her skin is lightly tan, she looks happy. Oswald feels that this happiness was genuine for just that day, in front of them stands a small boy with severely curly brown locks of hair, he’s smiling exposing crooked teeth, he wears a Motley Crue t-shirt much too large for a small child. 

Ed wraps his arms around Oswald’s waist, he rest his chin on his shoulder looking at the photo with him.

“I tried to wear that shirt to school one time, immediately sent to the principal’s office. Apparently Shout at the Devil is not an appropriate shirt for a seven-year-old to wear.” 

Oswald laughs, “My mother already had me wearing suits, I’m sure you can gather that that didn’t go over well with the other kids at school.” 

Ed presses a kiss against his shoulder then the side of his neck. “Kids are cruel.”

He nods in agreement. “Your family looks happy in this picture.”

Ed pulls away from him, he begins walking around the living room studying it, remembering it. “That had been a good day, dad had saved the life of a girl around my age that day. He’d been so….So happy, so he took us out for dinner then we went to the movies. We had days like that, where he was sober, happy.”

Oswald takes hold of his hand; he leads him out of the living room. They make their way up the carpeted staircase, more pictures line the walls, a lot more yard sale paintings and pictures he knows are of aunts and uncles. Ed leads him to a room towards the end of the hallway, a caution sign is taped to the door’s wooden surface. Ed smiles as he opens the door and leads him inside. 

Ed’s childhood bedroom is what Oswald would have expected. There’s a small TV set atop black milk crates, on the floor is a playstation, an NES, and a dreamcast. Posters on the wall are a mix of rock bands and video games, the bed itself is twin sized with green bedding. Oswald wanders over towards the closet opening the door, inside he finds a few shirts still on hangers, there are boxes on the ground containing games to the systems laid out on the floor, three more boxes contain books and comic books. He turns around to see Ed sitting on the bed watching him, a fond smile on his face.

“Remind me when we get our new home and I’ll make sure to set up a game room just for you.” He says as he moves to sit with him on the bed.

Ed hums, he looks at him and the way he’s looking at him is the way he always wanted him to look at him. “I would really like that.” He leans in kissing him gently. 

Even now it feels strange to kiss him, to know he can touch him and hold him. He’d had a fear that if the moment ever came, if Ed ever kissed him or told him he loved him that by the time it would happen he’d no longer feel this way towards him. It’s a baseless fear, he feels grounded and connected kissing him.

“Hey….Before we leave….I want to show you the basement.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, Oswald can see there’s trepidation about taking him down there. There’s traumatizing memories and the ghosts of a wicked past under the house. 

There’s a resumed heavy silence as they head back down to the first floor and to a door just outside of the kitchen. Ed grips his hand tightly as he turns the knob and pushes the door open, there’s never ending darkness that lays before them. Even Oswald feels as if there is something there, something lingering and waiting that could grab them and kill them. A fear he once would have thought of as childish until he read about Dr. Nashton. 

Carefully they descend the stairs, each step creaking protesting the weight. It’s been years since a living soul has entered this home, it feels as if the house is still awaiting the owners to return. 

The basement is pitch black, Ed places a hand on his shoulder and whispers to him to stay right there, that he’ll be back. All things he’s heard people in horror movies say, it’s typically followed by a guy in a hockey mask killing the boyfriend then coming for their partner. He feels strangely vulnerable standing alone in the dark, he can hear Ed’s footsteps echoing through the room, he can hear the rummaging as he looks for something. A minute later a beam of light appears, Ed returns holding a flashlight. He wraps an arm around Oswald’s waist and leads him through the room. 

He points the beam of the light towards metal tables placed in the center of the basement. “There used to be more stuff down here. There used to be machines and drip bags, anything that my dad could buy or steal from the hospital.” He then points the light towards a metal pole. “I um…A couple of times when I was a kid I snuck down here, I used to hide behind that pole.” There’s a long pause, Oswald wants to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about this if he doesn’t want to, but he knows he needs to do this. “One time, the last time….my dad’s experiment it wasn’t….It wasn’t secured to the table correctly. Its eyes were glazed, like it was blind, but it was staring right at me. It started thrashing and it, it practically lunged off the table. I-it came at me, I was so terrified that I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream. This man, this large fat middle aged man who smelled like rot and looked like he’d been dead for at least a week he grabbed my shoulders and-“ He takes a shaky breath. “He squeezed so hard I thought my bones would be crushed. My dad heard my screaming when I remembered I could scream, he drugged the thing and pulled it off of me. He was so pissed off at me, pissed that I had upset his experiment and that I called it a monster.”

He moves the light away from the pole, begins washing other areas of the room with light as if searching for any specific memory, but there are none left to find. 

“I think my dad was going to start doing his work again, he wouldn’t have been able to get into medicine again, but we both know it’s relatively easy to obtain corpses off the black market. I think he hoped maybe by now I’d be more agreeable to his work, that I might help him.” Ed confesses.

“You were going to say no to that, right?”

Ed’s silent for a moment, he shuts off the flashlight leaving them standing in the dark. “I don’t want to become him….We should, we should probably go back to City Hall.” 

There’s silence as they ascend the stairs, as they leave behind this house of complicated and terrible memories. They get back into the car and Oswald knows deep down that Ed isn’t capable of becoming Stephen Nashton, he isn’t his dad. He’s Edward Nygma and he needed to bury the final pieces of his past in this place before leaving it behind to change with time.


End file.
